HELLO + WELCOME, Gareth here today with an extra special post. I have been robbed. Below is a short account of what has happened.
Note: The following should be read in a deep husky voice. For effect.
It was a cool evening in the desert on a mid-May night. The day had gone well and we were both in high spirits. After a swim in the hot springs and a quick dinner, it was time for bed. We both scrambled out from under the fly net and into the Troopy through a swarm of mosquitoes. As I have done on every night for the last eight weeks, I kicked my thongs off at the rear door to the Troopy. Bed time in the desert – quiet – peaceful – soothing.
I woke the next morning to head out for my morning leak when I noticed I only had one thong at the rear door of the Troopy. As I always do I asked Kirsty where she had put it. “I haven’t touched your thong you doobie. Have a look!” she said smiling.
Ok then, well where is it?
I soon realised that with no one else around and no one to blame there was only one thing I could do. Set up a crime scene.
The area had been taped off less than a minute when Kirsty was startled by me screeching out “The dingo stole my thong. The dingo stole my thong”. Kirst ran over, quickly sat me down me down, gave me a brown paper bag and told me to calm down.
However, I was sure of it so with some persistence I tracked some footprints off to the side of the Troopy where I notice some faecal matter. It looked similar to that of a dog. I didn’t have my microscope with me so a quick taste test confirmed it WAS Dingo shit.
Out of the lab and back to the crime scene, two metres from where I found the Dingo shit, was my thong. Well, half of my thong. It was missing the top strap. It had been chewed off. A swab test of the thong confirmed – dingo saliva. SO I WAS RIGHT! – “The dingo stole my thong” And ate the bloody thing.
No dingo has yet been brought to justice. All I can say to the guilty dingo is this ‘What goes in, must come out’.
Moral to the story: Always pack a microscope.
I have recovered from this ordeal although I am still showering in Kirsty’s shiny silver thongs.